


Absolutely Smitten

by QuietUptown



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff!!! On Ice, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Yuuri has no idea who Viktor is, and Viktor is still Viktor, honestly who knows - Freeform, in which Yuuri is a writer, rating may change in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9543902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietUptown/pseuds/QuietUptown
Summary: After his first successful book, renowned Japanese author, Katsuki Yuuri, moves to Saint Petersburg on a quest to find inspiration for his new novel. On the way he will find more than what he ever hoped for.~~“You didn’t tell me what brought you here” he pouted, face awfully close to the other man’s, Yuuri blushed “Is it-” he trailed off, eyebrows raised, a sharp alluding tone.Yuuri blinked, confused.“Is it for love?” the shorter man shrieked, cheeks burning and head turning from side to side in the universal motion of ‘no, no, oh dear god no’.“I’m just a writer” he added quickly, words tripping over themselves “In search of inspiration”.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> And award for cheesiest title goes to.....  
> Sorry about the title guys, I was all ready to post and realized that I had none so I had to come up with something quickly.  
> It's the title of a (beatiful) song by Dodie Clark.
> 
> I apologize in advace for some eventual mistakes that you'll find in the story, english is not my first language but I try VERY hard to hide it. (If you find any, let me know, I'm always open to learnign!)

He felt hopeless. Standing alone, in a nearly empty apartment, white aseptic walls staring back at him. 

It all seemed too overwhelming, the silence that he had once loved and longed for, now suffocating him.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that the sun was setting, projecting orange shadows on the wooden floors, the entire room lighting with gorgeous shades of pale red; the shift could not faze him any less.

Sighing, he reached for the light switch, letting the white artificial brightness wash away all the colors and shadows.

 _This was a bad idea_ , he thought as he made his way to the elevator,  _I could still go back_ , he reasoned with himself while signing numerous pages of contracts.

And soon enough, he was left with big brown boxes at his feet and an aching heart in his chest, _I cannot go back now_.

He moved most of the boxes along the walls of the atrium, so that the other tenants would have the space to walk to the elevator without tripping over his belongings.

Then, with shaking hands he reached for the first couple of packages, the reality of his choices dawning on him once more.

_This is it, I can do it._

With a huff, he hoisted them in his hands and made his (wobbly) way towards the elevator, eyes partially covered by the boxes.

 

An hour later, he was still working on clearing the entrance; leaning on the atrium walls now were only a few more packs. He hopped towards them, breath shaky and shallow from the physical exercise and arms completely numb.

Balancing the first box in his left arm, he reached down to grab the second, letting a tired and loud groan fill the atrium, _gosh_ , he was extremely out of shape.

With the second box in his arms too, he stared at the third remaining one on the floor, determination (and tiredness) convincing him that _yes_ , he could in fact fit it in his small and weak arms.

He could not.

The box fell right on the floor with a loud thump, he prayed that nothing inside of it (whatever it could be, he hadn't labeled the boxes so there was no way of telling what was in which) had broken.

Careful not to let the other two packages slip from his grip, he crouched down with a loud groan, desperately trying to hoist the fallen one in his arms.

Too engrossed in his quest, he could barely hear the faint voice talking behind him, his brain completely focused on the task at hand, his arm had almost grabbed the edge of the box, so that with a single other movement he would have it secured between his chest and right arm when-

“Вам нужна помощь? **¹** ” his arms flailed out, sending the three boxes flying across the atrium at the same time as he let out a startled cry. With his heart threatening to escape from his chest he raised himself from the crouched position he had been in, legs slightly shaking.

As he turned around, his eyes locked with the blue ones of the person that had startled him, he blinked a few times to focus on the strangers’ face, to no avail, he could faintly make out his piercing blue eyes, the sharp face shape and the peculiar silver hair, but the rest was all a blur. He stared at him for a few seconds before the man in front of him lowered himself to his knees to grab something- his glasses!- from the floor.

“Держите **²** ” the stranger stretched his hand towards him, hesitantly he grabbed his own glasses and placed them on his nose, the stranger’s face finally clearing up, his features enhanced, he took a deep breath, _gosh he’s beautiful_.

The stranger repeated his initial question, thin silver eyebrows raising questioning.

“я не говорю по-русски **³** ” _I don’t speak Russian_ , he answered, voice faltering and accent unsure; that had been one of the first sentences he had learned before moving to Russia, he and Yuuko had spent an evening on google translate, searching and writing down the most useful phrases.

 _No_ , _yes_ , _thank you_ , _that_ , _this dog is beautiful_ , _hello_ and so on. At the end of the night they had ended up with a list of almost fifty words. Unfortunately for him, he only remembered a few (this dog is beautiful being one of them, obviously).

He fidgeted with his hands as he watched the other man’s face scrunch up in confusion, then he smiled and his blue eyes lit up with a mischievous shine.

“Oh, no problem then, I can speak English” he grinned once again, his voice smooth with an hint of an accent “I’m Viktor”.

“Yuuri” he grabbed the hand that Viktor offered and shook it in an awkward way, he prayed that his hands wouldn’t be sweaty “I- I just moved here”.

“I can see that” chuckled the Russian, looking at the three boxes left in the atrium, the ones that were still scattered on the floor, two of them upside down “Here, let me help you”.

Yuuri flailed his arms, in a futile attempt to stop him, he didn’t need his help and surely he had better things to do than help a stranger with his move, but Viktor had already grabbed two of the boxes and was now making his way to the third one that had been flung a lot further.

Once in the elevator, Viktor had started questioning him, packages fully covering his figure, his voice muffled by the cardboard, he seemed to be truly interested in Yuuri’s story.

In the span of one minute, the time it took for the elevator to reach Yuuri’s floor, the Russian had already asked a multitude of questions (most of them had gone unanswered by a blushing Yuuri).

He opened the elevator door for Viktor, who was still hidden by the boxes, and led him to his front door that he had left unlocked.

“You can put them wherever you want” he said, leaving the front door ajar, assuming that Viktor wouldn’t want to stay more than a minute.

Once the silver haired man had gotten rid of the boxes he stood up, eyes scanning the apartment curiously. His blue eyes landed on the walls first, the pristine look was ruined in some places, where colors such as browns and dark greens replaced the aseptic white, in other places the walls looked like they had been scraped and scratched by some creature from an horror movie.

Yuuri followed Viktor’s gaze as it moved from the walls and towards the empty open space, the only ‘furniture’ on the ruined wood floors being the brown boxes.

“What happened to this place?” asked the Russian after a while, Yuuri’s mouth fell open, shocked by the straightforwardness of the man in front of him.

“I-” he began, the answer unknown even to him “It was already like this when I bought it, but it lowered the price of the rent so it’s okay” _it’s also the only reason I managed to afford it_ , he wanted to add, but decided against it; his hot neighbor didn't need to know he was low on money.

Viktor nodded understanding, he moved towards the door but then stopped in his tracks as if he remembered something, his eyes locked with Yuuri’s.

“If you have no furniture, where will you sleep?” Yuuri opened his mouth to answer, but the man stopped him “You could sleep in my apartment”.

To say that Yuuri’s eyes bulged out of his head would be an understatement, the young man let out a loud ‘eh?’ alongside a numerous string of ‘no’s all accompanied by dramatic flailings of arms “I have a mattress” he then added, once calmed down; the Russian raised his hands in defense, a wide smile of amusement spreading on his pink lips.

The two stared at each other, the apartment falling silent, the only, faint, noise coming from the elevator outside.

“I better get going, then” exclaimed Viktor, turning towards the door that was, still, ajar “if you need something, anything, I’m right on the other side of the hall, the red door with the poodle doormat” he smiled again, flashing his white teeth, then closed the door after himself, leaving a stunned Yuuri behind.

Not knowing what to do with himself, he reached for the first, random, box near him, crouching down he first wiped his sweaty hands on his sweatpants, he had barely torn the brown tape when he heard a knock.

He made his way towards the front door, a confused expression plastered on his face, raising himself on his tiptoes he took a peak through the peephole and his breath stilled as his hands flew to fumble with the locks.

Viktor was standing right in front of him, smile gracing his features, from up close (and with his glasses on) Yuuri could see how he was even more gorgeous.

“You didn’t tell me what brought you here” he pouted, face awfully close to the other man’s, Yuuri blushed “Is it-” he trailed off, eyebrows raised, a sharp, alluding tone.

Yuuri blinked, confused.

“Is it for love?” the shorter man shrieked, cheeks burning and head turning from side to side in the universal motion of ‘no, no, oh dear god no’.

“I’m just a writer” he added quickly, words tripping over themselves “In search of inspiration”.

“A writer” repeated the silver haired man, curiosity seeping through his tone, eyes sparkling with interest.

Yuuri nodded, his blue glasses threatening to fall from the bridge of his nose, a faint smile gracing his own lips.

“That’s cool” exclaimed Viktor after a while, he took a step back, onto the hallway “Well, goodnight then” and before Yuuri could answer, he had already turned his back to him and was now walking to his own apartment.

From his spot in the doorway, Yuuri could actually spot the poodle doormat that Viktor had briefly talked about and he found himself smiling as he turned towards his own apartment and closed the door behind.

 

 

 **¹** _‘Do you need help?’_  
**²** _‘Here you go’_  
**³** _‘I don’t speak Russian’_


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the great feedback on the prologue, I was extremely self-concious about it and you actually made me feel a lot better.  
> Once again: english is not my first language so if you find any mistakes, please let me know! Help me improve!  
> Oh, and if you want, you can follow me on my yoi sideblog, I haven't used it that much for now, but if you need anything you can find me [here](https://pettyuri.tumblr.com)

_The sound of his footsteps could be heard_ _echoing in the empty alleyway, his legs trembling from the great effort that his run had required. He tried to still his heavy panting to no avail; finally, he decided that covering his mouth would be the best option, holding back a gag of disgust as his lips came in contact with the rancid taste of the blood covering his entire hand ˗his own blood˗ that was still gushing out._

_He pressed himself against the rough and uneven wall as he waited to hear the sound of footsteps pass him by, standing there for what seemed like hours he raised his head slightly to face the sky, his only source of comfort._

_It was completely black, the shining moon being the only source of light, although it was half covered by a dark and threatening cloud; with his head towards the sky, he felt his vision go blurry as tears welled up in his eyes, some of them spilling silently on his sculpted cheeks. He stilled a sob as his hand, that was still planted on his mouth, started to shake (perhaps from the cold, perhaps from the weight of the entire situation dawning on him). More tears rushed down his face, now the moon was only a blur in the dark sky, silent sobs raking his aching body._

_His mind wandered back to the events of a couple hours before, when he had been laughing and drinking with his closest friends, the skyline of St. Petersburg comforting, he felt a pang of anger rake his body as he realized that, for the first time in his life, he had felt at home._

_With his free hand (the other one still covering his mouth), he wiped hastily at the tears, he flinched at the contact with his left eye, that still pulsing from the punch._

_He moved his hand upwards, locking it in his silvery hair, he˗_

 

Yuuri groaned, crumpling his umpteenth draft in his right hand, he threw it across the room towards the paper recycling bin. It landed next to another paper scrap, right beside the bin, but not quite inside of it. The man huffed, he had never been good at basketball anyways.

“I can’t even picture the main character,” he whined as he stared at the pile of papers that laid in front of him, doodles of different faces staring back at him. None looked like the other, different skin tones, different face shapes, different hairstyles. Same piercing blue eyes.

In his first drafts he had opted for a description of a vague idea in the back of his mind, a face that had been haunting his dreams for a couple of days, but that he always struggled to envision in his writings, once fully awake.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of defeat he lowered his head onto the desk, forehead banging loudly on the wooden table, Yuuri let out a shriek. He had sat there for what felt like hours (and in fact it had been more than five) and all he had amounted to was a staggering amount of wasted paper, a figuratively wounded ego and a not-so-figuratively wounded forehead.

Everything in his body ached from sitting down in the same position for too long, he stretched his arms towards the ceiling in a futile attempt to relieve the building pressure.

Yuuri blinked as he watched the sun rise outside, from his window he could admire a breathtaking view of Saint Petersburg, the early morning projecting a calm atmosphere in the city. The lights in most houses were still off and a few seagulls were brave enough to venture over the balconies, the orange sunrays spreading in-between the buildings.

Back in Hasetsu, his hometown in Japan, he had always longed for a bigger, brighter and more lively place, such as Saint Petersburg. He had always thought that perhaps a bigger city, with a wide variety of challenges would inspire him to new extents. But now that he _was_ living in a city (one that he had always dreamed of, even), everything seemed kind of off. The inspiration he constantly craved of, wasn’t fully at its peak.

He felt alone, way more than he had ever felt before (even the first week in Detroit years beforehand, the place he had chosen to his first book, had not been that _tragic_ ).

As he stared out of his window, he yawned forcefully. Yuuri had, once again, stayed up all night. It had always been a part of him, if something was on his mind (and that night, every possible thing had been) he would not be able to switch off. He had woken up at one in the morning after a staggering _two-hour_ sleep, with the ‘greatest idea ever’ regarding his book. Had immediately skipped out of bed, bare feet freezing as they came in contact with the cold floor, and had groped his way in the dark to reach his desk in the living room.

He had written a draft on his laptop, had hated it, had switched to paper thinking that the ‘older way of writing’ would inspire him, it hadn’t, had then turned to the laptop once again. Five hours later, as the sun started to rise, he had decided to try once again with paper.

At six in the morning, Katsuki Yuuri had started to wonder if, perhaps, the method of writing wasn’t the problem, if laptop or paper wasn’t what prevented him from writing his masterpiece. He lowered his head on the cool surface of his desk (this time carefully avoiding banging his brow on it) and sighed as his heavy eyelids slowly opened and closed, until the room was filled with his light snoring.

 

He was awakened by a loud thumping, Yuuri shot upwards, the weight change sending his chair tumbling backwards. He waved his arms in the air, uselessly trying to prevent the inevitable. In a matter of seconds, he was laying on his back, eyes staring at the white ceiling ( _is that a blood stain? How did it get there?_ ) and heart beating fast in his chest. The thumping ceased.

Silence.

“Are you okay in there?” a voice, heavily accented, rang from outside, Yuuri’s head turned to face the front door, where the voice came from. Gulped, he knew that voice.

He got up on his feet, waiting a few seconds before moving, the room lightly spinning around him. The he made his, wobbly, way to the front door, he turned a few locks with difficulty, slowed down by the aching in the back of his head.

Yuuri swung the door open and then everything happened in an heartbeat. He locked eyes with his neighbor, Viktor, who wore a warm smile, and before he could have time to blush, he felt something push his chest, the impact almost shoving him to the floor. With confusion, he lowered his gaze downwards and emitted an inhuman sound at the sight of what could probably be the _most beautiful dog on the face of the planet_.

The pain in his head and the hot neighbor in front of him _instantly_ forgotten, he fell to his knees to be at eye-level with the brown poodle, Yuuri’s hands already scratching his ears and fur.

As the poodle licked his face happily, a warm feeling spread in his heart.

“He likes you” remarked Viktor after a while. As if Yuuri had only remembered him, his eyes shot towards him, finding a welcoming smile and sparkling blue eyes. He blushed.

“I like him too”.

“Good” said Viktor, his hand joining Yuuri’s in the dog’s fur “Because I need a favor”.

“What?” babbled the shorter man, the Russian crouched to his level, eyes locked together, a serious look on his face, the dog long forgotten.

Yuuri’s heart started beating faster as he examined the other man’s face “I need you to watch Makkachin for me”.

The dark-haired man blinked a few times, his eyes moving from Viktor to the dog in question “Why?” he found himself asking, as confusion settled on his face.

“Oh-” exclaimed the man in front of him, Viktor scratched the back of his neck, silence falling in between the two as his blue eyes scanned the dimly lit apartment in search of _something_ “he is a little sick and I don’t want him to stay alone”.

Yuuri’s brown eyes bulged out of his head as his gaze shot towards the brown poodle, who was now laying down on the floor napping “Oh my god, what’s wrong? Have you called the vet? What does they say?”.

“Huh?” Viktor’s head cocked to the side, Yuuri’s rapid fire question waking him from a trance “Why would I call the vet?”.

Yuuri furrowed his brows “You said the dog – Makkachin – is sick” he deadpanned, suspicions starting to stir in his brain, Viktor jumped to his feet.

From his position on the floor, Viktor was now towering over Yuuri, shielding his view as the only thing he could now see where his training sweatpants.

“Yes, that’s what I said” he exclaimed, a little too loudly, Yuuri stood up “Because it’s true, now I need to go” he took a step back, fully into the hallway now.

“But, what if I need to go somewhere?”.

(Yuuri hadn’t planned to go anywhere).

“You can take Makkachin with you” retorted Viktor, taking another step back, mischievous smile grazing his lips.

“But, what if Makkachin gets sick?”.

(Yuuri doubted the poodle was actually sick, it looked extremely healthy)

“My number is written on the dog tag around the collar” another step back, now Viktor was almost at the elevator, voice slightly raised to make sure the shorter boy would hear him “Text me so I can have your number”.

And with that, he opened the elevator door, that was already waiting at their floor, and disappeared into it.

Yuuri turned to the sleeping poodle at his feet, the two of them still standing in the entryway of the apartment, he called for the dog who perked up, tail wagging and tongue sticking out, then closed the door behind.

“Makkachin your owner is very weird” he said to the dog, the poodle wagged his tail even more, agreeing with his statement.

He turned to the clock hung on the wall. 1:45 pm. Yuuri gasped, realizing that he had been asleep for a long while, he shrugged it off.

He scrambled up a quick lunch, Makkachin following his every step curiously. The dog had put him in a good mood (it wasn’t the only factor, but was the only one Yuuri was willing to admit). Then he plopped down his new (new meaning that he had just bought it, the old piece of furniture hadn’t been ‘new’ in over forty years) couch, the springs under him protesting loudly. Makkachin perked up from his spot behind the doorway (was the poodle waiting for Viktor? Yuuri pouted at the sight), the poodle spotted him on the sofa and charged at him cheerily, landing on his stomach with a loud thump. Much to the dismay of the couch’s springs, that whined from underneath their weight.

As he was scratching the poodle’s ears Yuuri wondered if Viktor was accustomed to leaving his dog in the hands of strangers. Granted, he was his neighbor, so it’s not like he could run away or sell his dog and then vanish. But still, Viktor hadn’t known of Yuuri’s love for dogs so it had been a somewhat foolish shot in the dark to just show up at his doorstep with a dog and a leash.

He sighed, that man was a mystery.

 

After playing with the brown poodle for a while (almost two hours) he moved towards the desk in the living room, lifted the chair (that was still upside down on the floor) and sat on it, mind finally concentrating to the task at hand. Writing.

Feeling inspired Yuuri grabbed his notepad, and a pen.  
He begun describing an intricate setting, and an even more intriguing, mysterious character with silver hair and a sharp face. Stopping every once in a while, only to rub at Makkachin’s soft fur or snap some pictures of the poodle napping on his blue sofa.

It was only after the sun had set in the sky that Yuuri heard a knock, Makkachin stood at attention, following Yuuri’s footsteps to the door; he swung it open and the poodle let out a happy bark.

Viktor was standing there, a weary smile on his flushed face (probably from the cold) and his hair slightly damp. The poodle jumped on him as Viktor let go of his (training?) bag on the floor with a loud thump, to properly greet him.

Yuuri smiled at the scene, butterflies in his stomach as he fought the urge to awe at them, Viktor’s smile was affectionate and his blue eyes were bright with glee. After a while, the russian thanked him.

Yuuri nodded and after muttering a ‘no problem’ he also added “Makkachin was perfectly fine the whole day, didn’t look sick or anything”.

He watched Viktor’s expression morph into confusion, then, after a while, he snapped back to reality “Oh, right, that’s good”.

The two stared at each other for a while, both studying each other’s face, Yuuri’s eyebrow raised in skepticism.

“Well, I better go” Viktor who broke the silence, he lowered himself to grab the gym bag, then, after bidding goodnight to Yuuri and thanking him once again, he made his way across the hallway.

Yuuri stared at him as he unlocked his door and then, as if he felt someone watching him, he turned towards him, smile constantly on his lips.

“You didn’t text me” the silver haired man pouted, Yuuri gulped, taken aback, he wasn’t expecting that.

“I didn’t deem it necessary, Makkachin was perfectly alright” he answered quickly, not wanting to admit that, although Makkachin had indded been fine, he had completely forgotten to text him, too engrossed in his writing. He had remembered to save Viktor’s number though. In fact, that had been one of the first things he had done.

“Right” deadpanned Viktor, smile unfaltering “Goodnight Yuuri”.

“Goodnight Viktor”.

They both closed their doors in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, this chapter is still extremely short. I know.  
> But it's just the beginning I swear, let me get into the real story and then you won't have to worry about the lenght of the chapter anymore.  
> Let me know what you think of this, I would love to hear your opinions ((because I'm extremely insecure and I won't post unless I know that people really like this))  
> thank you so much,  
> Nicole :)


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To _EmmaLaLaLand_ , because your comment was super sweet and it made me smile, like, a lot.   
>  ( ~~Also because I'm a narcissist and I love praise~~ )

He tucked his legs under his weight, balancing his laptop in his hands, the springs of the couch squeaking underneath him, he winched, irritated. They say that once you hear a certain sound for too long, eventually you grow accustomed to it. Yuuri knew he would never grow accustomed to it, if anything, he was growing more annoyed each time the damn couch emitted a sound.

“Yuuri, I’m dying to know more” Yuuri scuffed, placing his laptop on the coffee table in front of him (it had been his newest purchase, the price of it being extremely low due to the unusual, bright pink color), he looked right into the webcam, making sure that the person on the other side of the video chat could see the _fed up_ look on his face “Don’t make me ask you twice, Katsuki Yuuri”.

At the stern scolding, the man stood up with a defeated ‘okay, okay’ and shouted a ‘let me grab my notes’ as he padded his way to the work desk. What was once a neat wooden brown table was now completely covered in papers, sketches, run out pens and food crumbles. _I should clean_ , he thought as he grabbed a few sheets, then headed back to the couch.

The image of the woman on the other side had frozen, but Yuuri could still hear her squeal as he waved the papers in front of the webcam.

“So” he began, an insecure tone setting in his voice, he knew that he didn’t have to be nervous, especially with Minako. The woman had supported him since the beginning, when at fifteen he had attended her creative writing class and fell in love with writing. He knew that if someone would be supportive and understanding of his first drafts, that would be her; but still, as he began reciting the rough outline of the plot, he couldn’t stop the unsettling feeling in his stomach. Because, although he knew that Minako would be supportive, he also did not want to disappoint her.

He glanced up a couple of times as the image of the woman twitched, sometimes moving fluidly, some other freezing altogether; in the rare moments when the video would be clear, Yuuri could catch what appeared to be a slight shimmering in Minako’s eyes, his panic slowly subsiding to a slight, still extremely familiar, discomfort.

“What about the characters?” she asked sometime later, when Yuuri had drifted to describing the scenery; the writer gulped, eyes flickering to the desk where the sketches laid, he scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m still struggling with them” he admitted a timid blush creeping over his cheeks and nose. Minako’s lips moved slightly upwards.

“You always do, at the beginning, but you’ll get through it” Yuuri nodded, not trusting his voice just yet “So tell me what you’ve got”.

The writer’s eyes drifted mindlessly to the sketches on the desk; that was one his peculiarities, he couldn’t describe a character without having drawn a (extremely simplistic and childish) doodle. Not feeling ready to show the woman his simple drawings, he opted for what had always been his strong point: describing.

Surprisingly the words seemed to flow easily out of Yuuri’s mouth, characterization upon characterization, thorough details were added here and there at the exact moment the writer thought of them “and lastly, his hair, Minako, his hair will be the most gorgeous shade of pale silver, with even lighter highlights”.

Yuuri looked at his computer screen and squinted at it, Minako’s image was frozen again, he frowned as he realized that even the sound had been cut off-

“I can’t wait to read it” she uttered, the man realized her image had never been frozen in the first place, she had just been awestruck “you need to send me the manuscript before anyone else, understood?”.

Yuuri nodded, a wide smile spreading on his face, with Minako’s approval under his belt, he felt like a weight was finally lifting off his shoulders.

“This character though” Yuuri’s breath hitched in his throat “Just sounds too familiar, it’s like I already know him”.

The writer frowned, he scanned all of his and Minako’s common acquaintances, none matched the description “I don’t know” he shrugged, he was ready to speak again when a loud thump against his door interrupted his train of thoughts.

“эй нет, Makkachin, пойдем¹” the voice that infiltrated the walls was loud enough for the man to hear, but not for the computer’s microphone to catch on.

“What’s going on?” she inquired curiously, neck stretching towards the webcam in an inhumane angle. Although she hadn’t heard the voice, she had noticed her friend’s change in expression.

Another thump. This time Yuuri’s head turned awfully quickly, his neck protesting with a small _crack_.

“Да ладно Makkachin, уйти от двери²” Yuuri scrambled to his feet, ignoring Minako’s questions, he said a quick goodbye to brush her off and closed the laptop.

He knew that if he wanted, he could simply pretend to not be at home, or even better, he could pretend to not have heard, after all, the building’s walls were pretty thick. Instead he walked to the entrance, ears perking up to catch any other possible sound. Nothing.

He swung his door open in time to catch Viktor’s body enter his own apartment, he pouted, for some strange reason he had really hoped to talk to Viktor.

And play with Makkachin.

Of course, playing with Makkachin was as important as talking to his neighbor, _of course_.

He unconsciously sighed out loud as he took a step back, ready to close the door again, already formulating an excuse to feed Minako. Deep in his thoughts, he completely neglected the happy bark coming from the other side of the corridor, it was only when he got attacked by a brown mass of fur that he realized.

His lips curled upwards as his hands automatically flew into Makkachin’s fur, the dog showering him with love and kisses.

“Hi Makkachin” cooed Yuuri as he lowered himself to the ground to give the poodle even more attention “I haven’t seen you in a while, buddy”.

“We were out of town for the week” replied a voice, Yuuri’s cheeks reddened automatically as his gaze flew upwards. He stood up, Makkachin whining at his feet.

An “I noticed” slipped right out of his mouth before he could stop himself, he blushed even more (if possible), the hot feeling spreading from the tip of his ears to his chest.

“You did?” Viktor’s tone was unusual, was it – surprise? (no, it couldn’t be surprise, Yuuri had _surely_ just imagined it).

The man was ready to blurt an excuse, to say that _no_ , _that’s not what he had meant_ , but upon seeing the Russian’s smile, a smile that wasn’t only confined to his lips, but that spread to his entire face, he just nodded.

“Of course I noticed” he said instead, his heart beating faster and faster “You’re the only nice person in this place”.

And as if on cue, the adjacent door opened, revealing a middle aged man, or rather, revealing his face, his body hidden behind the wooden door.

“Вы мешаете мой сон³” he frowned, voice sharp. And Yuuri didn’t know Russian, but he would’ve betted on his life that the man hadn’t just sung his praises. Intimidated, he unconsciously took a step backwards, near the comfort (and safety) of his apartment.

Viktor ducked his head, uttering what sounded like apologies, the man clicked his tongue, eyes reduced to two slits, then his head turned to Yuuri “Shut up” he told him, voice heavily accented, words firm and spelled out.

The man shot them one final deathly look, then closed his door with a bang, the sound echoing back between the walls of the building.

Yuuri and Viktor looked at each other, sharing looks of mutual harmony, the both of them struggling to hold in their giggles.

“I-” begun Yuuri, head snapping warily to look at the old man’s door, he lowered his voice to a whisper, _just in case_ “Do you want to come inside?”.

Viktor’s stared briefly to his apartment door, that was still half way opened, a suitcase in the middle, preventing it from closing “Wait here”.

He jogged (Yuuri’s heart swelled in his chest) to his door, kicked his luggage inside unceremoniously, letting the door fall shut and turned towards him once again, smile on his lips as he made his way back to Yuuri’s apartment.

“Oh, I see you’ve redecorated” Viktor eyed the entire house, scanning each and every detail, Yuuri followed his gaze, shame bubbling in his stomach as he took in the sight of his messy apartment.

His kitchen, that had been left untouched, was instead covered in boxes, some were still containing his stuff, some others were empty; he had plopped those in there with the intent of clearing them out, but in the end the room had turned into some sort of storage.

It wasn’t that Yuuri couldn’t cook, back in Hasetsu he had dabbled in a few recipes, sometimes even helping his mother in the onsen’s (his family’s business). It was just that, whilst in what his sister referred to as “creative process”, Yuuri’s meals would consist in precooked meals, take-aways and bagged chips.

A diet that would make a nutritionist shiver in fear.

The living room was even _more_ hideous, not only the furniture was completely mismatched and the walls were still stained and gross-looking, but tidiness was a distant memory. The mess that had started only on his desk had now spread to the entire room, knick-knacks covered every possible surface.

Yuuri’s eyes caught onto the sketches on his desk, breath hitching in his throat as he, only now, realized the similarities between the main character he had drawn and his neighbor that was now walking curiously towards them.

He leaped forward.

(Leaped, as in, ran so quickly that Viktor was stunned).

Hands flying all over the desk, he grabbed as many papers as he could, holding them close to his chest.

Never had it occurred to him, never had he made the connection and, as he fumbled with his drawings, he cursed himself for his foolishness.

“Sorry for the mess” he blurted, cheeks fully red “Please, make yourself at home”.

With his drawings still clutched to his body, he hurried to his bedroom, releasing them on his bed. He analyzed one, and yes. The man in his sketches was awfully resembling of Viktor.

He hid the pictures.

Under his mattress. _For good measure_.

Back in the living room Viktor had already taken a seat on the blue sofa, the springs underneath him moving with each little shift, Makkachin laid at his feet, already half asleep.

Yuuri sat on the outer edge of the couch, awkwardness settling in between them. At the end of the day, they had had only a few conversations beforehand.

Determined to end the unsettling silence, Yuuri pointed to the napping poodle “Do you always bring him with you when you travel?”.

“Only when I travel nationally” Viktor rubbed the dog’s head lovingly “I like to spend as much time as I can with Makkachin”

“Oh, so you’re a traveler?” Yuuri turned sideways, so that he could face Viktor fully, he was now very interested.

“You could say so, yeah”. His smile was inviting, but from the tone in his voice, Yuuri understood that Viktor would rather talk about something else. So he nodded, whilst quickly scanning his brain for another possible topic. Preferably something non-awkward, like–

“So Yuuri, do you have a girlfriend?” Yuuri choked on his own saliva, so much for ‘non-awkward’ plans.

Sensing the younger man’s distress, Makkachin jumped on the sofa, straddling his legs, nuzzling his snout on his face. With his entire body hidden by the poodle, Yuuri muttered a “no”, hoping that Viktor wouldn’t catch his stuttering.

“What about a boyfriend” the Russian inquired again and this time, Yuuri was even more glad to have Makkachin’s entire body covering him, because his blush had become so prominent that he now looked sunburnt.

- _Let’s take him to the ER, I think he’s dying_ -, sunburnt.

He gave a negative answer and Viktor mumbled a ‘alright’, then silence fell between them, Makkachin settled on the sofa and Yuuri turned away from Viktor, trying to hide his still present blush.

After a while, they begun an uneventful conversation about the weather, that somehow lingered on for almost half an hour.

In between a sentence, Viktor yawned loudly, his eyes closing tiredly, he rubbed them with his hands like a child (Yuuri fought the urge to aw at him) and then he muttered a “Sorry, I’m a little tired”.

“I can see that, you should go to sleep” replied Yuuri faking cheerfulness, the selfish part in his brain that wanted to keep the conversation going for longer ( _like, forever_ ) losing to the most rational one. He stood up from the sofa, the Russian mimicking his actions dazed by the sleepiness.

They walked silently to the door, Makkachin following in tow, bid each other goodnight and Viktor turned his back to him, ready to head to his apartment, then he turned back around.

“You need to describe St Petersburg in your book, right?” his tone was a mixture of fake disinterest and hopefulness, Yuuri nodded, his insides twisting. _Was he suggesting what Yuuri thought he was suggesting?_

“I could show you around then, take you to the most important places” Viktor exclaimed, the tiredness in his voice making him sound weird, but still excited “You know, for your book”.

“I would love that” Yuuri answered, a little too quickly “ _For my book_ ”.

They stared at each other, brown eyes meeting blue ones. Both tired, but still shining.

A door opened to their right and Yuuri’s blood froze in his veins, he didn’t have to turn around to know _who_ had just opened the door.

“I told you” the words were enunciated angrily, the thick, Russian accent unmistakable, they sounded almost revised, as if the man had googled them and simply repeated them “shut up”.

Yuuri and Viktor stared at each other one final time, then, as quickly as they could, they both retreated to their apartments in a heartbeat.

 

 

 

Wrapped in his warmest coat, Yuuri Katsuki stood near the elevator, sweating profusely. Not only because the coat was too hot for having it on inside, but also because of, _well_ , Viktor.

During the week prior to their scheduled ‘sightseeing day’, the two had met twice. Both times on their apartment ledge and both times had been extremely awkward. At least for Yuuri.

The first time, Viktor had asked for Yuuri’s number because ‘how else are we going to make arrangements for Sunday?’, as if they didn’t live less than a minute away from each other. The poor boy had been so overwhelmed by the demand that he had immediately retreated to his apartment.

The second time, Viktor had actually succeeded in getting the _damn_ number, after minutes of unashamed begging and, under the interested gazes of a few neighbors, Yuuri had _finally_ caved in.

So no wonder Yuuri was agitated, he dreaded Viktor’s next actions.

“Good morning” Viktor greeted him the second he closed his apartment door, he was sporting an unusually lightweight trench coat, compared to Yuuri’s bulky quilted jacket “Hey look, we match”.

Yuuri stared at their coats, both a deep blue color and he blushed; they did match indeed.

“We look like one of _those_ couples” chirped Viktor lightly as they both got in the elevator, the doors closing with a _ding._

If possible, Yuuri started sweating even more, he faked a tiny laugh and his face settled in an expression of slight panic as the elevator descended with an unsettling creaking.

The younger man turned his head around warily, scared that the elevator might break at any moment. Viktor chuckled at his expression.

“I’ve been living in this place for years and this thing” he patted the grey walls surrounding them “never broke, not even once”.

As if on cue, the doors opened, revealing the bright atrium, the sun seeping through the glass doors.

“You never heard it do that before?” Viktor inquired as he pushed the glass door open, a wave of cold hitting Yuuri right in the face.

“I don’t go out often” he admitted, walking by Viktor’s side, then he added hurriedly, in an attempt to sound less pathetic: “I’m always writing”.

That was a lie. Yuuri’s days, although they did consist in a lot of writing, were mainly filled with him, sitting on his blue sofa, watching tv shows on his laptop (regular tv was out of the question given the fact that everything was in Russian) and, sometimes, video chatting with his friends and family.

Viktor nodded, understanding. In a matter of minutes, the conversation drifted to a whole different topic and as the two walked through the city. Yuuri slowly relaxed and begun to enjoy the experience.

They spent the day walking around the city, Viktor pointing at the most important monuments and spitting fact after fact. Yuuri doubted the trueness of most of them, but it was still enjoyable nonetheless.

He snapped a few pictures of the prettiest buildings, for reference, and of the sea and port, for reference.

He even took pictures of Viktor, in front of palaces, near statues, staring at paintings in a museum, feeding fishes. _For reference_.

At the end of the day, when the sky had gone dark and sightseeing had become almost impossible, both from the lack of light and the sharp cold, they retreated inside a small café.

Viktor spoke to the waitress quickly, Yuuri’s expression focused as he listened to the sharp accents, mind thinking of possible adjectives to describe the language in his book.

The young woman hurried away, a slight blush on her cheeks (Yuuri could perfectly understand her, as he shot a glance to the man sitting in front of him who had discarded his trench coat on the back of the chair and was now sporting a simple V-neck and a dazzling smile).

The lady brought them two fuming hot chocolates, and settled them on the table between them, along with some sweets.

Yuuri’s eyes moved around the café, words flowing in his mind, dancing around ideas, considering some and scratching out others.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Viktor reach in his pockets and grab his phone to take a picture of, he assumed, the table covered in sweets and the two beautiful, decorated, mugs of hot chocolate.

They ate and drunk in comfortable silence, sometimes uttering praises for the food and some others simply talking about random stuff.

It was nice, Yuuri thought, having a friend in St. Petersburg. He had never expected to make friends, due to his shyness. Sure, back in Detroit he _had_ made friends, but it had been only due to the fact that he had lived in a shared apartment.

They took a taxi back home soon after, the inside of the car feeling warm and comfortable, contrary to the harshness of the air outside. They chatted quietly all the way to their apartment floor.

After bidding each other goodnight, Yuuri closed his door behind, a smile adorning his lips.

It wasn’t until later, when he was settled in bed, a random book in his hands, that his phone dinged on the bedside table.

He opened the text without much of a thought and his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the message. From Viktor.

It was a photo attachment: captured in the picture was Yuuri, sitting in the café, head slightly turned away from the camera, hair messy, big brown eyes hidden behind his blue glasses and a calm, serene expression on his face.

He looked good, with the light from outside reflecting on his face and one hand wrapped around the mug.

He sighed in content as read the caption that the Russian had sent along ‘I had fun today’ plus a couple of goofy emojis.

Yuuri blushed for the thousandth time that day and a smile crept on his lips, as he buried his face in the pillows.

 

 

¹ hey no, Makkachin, let’s go

² c’mon Makkachin, get away from the door

³ you’re disturbing my sleep

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Me: wait a few days to update, you have other things to do.
> 
> Inner me: write an entire chapter, at midnight, on a school night.
> 
>  
> 
> I hate myself :)
> 
> Anyways, hope you liked this chapter.  
> If you want to follow me on tumblr, [this is my yoi sideblog](https://pettyuri.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And a few days ago I posted a very weird angsty\creepy one shot, [check it out if you'd like](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9603146).
> 
> Keep commenting, I love to hear your opinions :)


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive?!?!?
> 
>  
> 
> ~~not that anybody cares~~
> 
>   _To[Emma_fandoms_foreve](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_fandoms_forever/pseuds/Emma_fandoms_forever)r because you've been commenting from chapter 1 and you're such a sweetheart, thank you for being super nice and supportive_

With his body recurved over the wooden desk, he exhaled a satisfied sigh as his hands stilled from the fervent typing. His eyes scanned the bright screen that he had placed in front of himself, searching for any palpable mistake as he scrolled upwards on his word document, the task of reaching the top difficult from the number of pages he had already written.

He was done writing for the day, now all he needed to do was re-read every-

A loud grumble filled the room, his insides twisting in an extremely uncomfortable way, instinctively his hands flew to his stomach, that was still emitting noises of discomfort.

He grimaced as he tried to recall his last meal, and refrained from smacking his head on the table as he realized that a good 15 hours had passed from it. His mother would always scold him for his forgetful habits concerning food, back in Hasetsu, she would complain constantly that his health was more important than his ‘inspiration’.

And Yuuri knew that, but he also knew that he didn’t do it on purpose. The words emitting from his mind would suck him into a whole new dimension, where his bodily-needs were forgotten until the very last moment.

 _If only his mother would see him right now_ , opening every single cupboard and drawer in a desperate search for food. She would be very disappointed with him, even more, she would give him that sad look that made Yuuri’s heart shrink.

As he opened the last cupboard, realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He had eaten every last bit of food left in the house. He didn’t even bother opening the fridge, knowing full well that all he would find were empty clear shelves and a couple of bottles of water.

At least he kept himself hydrated.

His apartment had never felt lonelier, the aseptic walls, the impersonal and anonym furniture and the barely used kitchen. If it weren’t for the desk set at the far end of the room, his work station that was covered in papers, doodles and even some poems, it would seem like an abandoned apartment.

The grumbling in his stomach echoed around the room, prompting him to finally stop moping on his loneliness and finally get a grip on the situation. The food situation, of course.

He dialed the phone number of the only take away place that, he had found out, could actually understand English, it had surprisingly been a difficult task to accomplish, apparently Russians didn’t enjoy speaking or even learning English.

The food wasn’t the best, but in emergencies it tasted like heaven. And these types of ‘emergencies’ were pretty common with Yuuri, more common than he liked to admit.

His heart was shattered into pieces when the line went dead after too many beeps on the other side of the phone. Too many beeps for a takeaway place.

Yuuri whined, hands flying to cover his face in distress. Of course, the only day he really needed food, the restaurant was closed or too busy to take new orders. Yuuri opted for the former, knowing full well that quality of the food was barely passable, so the chances of the restaurant being crowded were slim, _very slim_.

Resigned to having no other choice, he grabbed his keys and put on his heaviest coat, the St. Petersburg weather still unforgiving on his limbs used to much warmer climates. He felt weird, leaving his apartment after his hermit days, the amount of times he had gotten out could be counted on the fingers of one hand, perhaps two.

There had been the few times he had gone grocery shopping, only a couple amount of times in the span of almost two months (no wonder his pantry and fridge were empty).

Then there had been that time he had felt compelled to go outside, ‘outside’ meaning a few meters away from his building, because he needed to describe the snow in the most realistic way possible. He had spent an hour, all alone, feeling the coldness on his fingers and even tasting the icy water on his tongue.

And then, of course, there had been his sightseeing day with his neighbor, Viktor, who had been friendly and accommodating, had waited patiently for Yuuri every single time the latter would stop, sometimes for minutes and minutes on hand, to contemplate every little detail of the city; from the rooftops of the humble houses to the statues, from the fountains to the birds in the sky and so on. The Russian had been understanding and even willing to describe and spill his knowledge on everything, at some point, Yuuri had even forced him, face burning bright red, to talk in Russian so he could pick up the sounds and the twists of the language.

As he made his way to the elevator his eyes mindlessly drifted towards Viktor’s apartment door, a faint blush coating his cheeks for some reason.

 

 

Once, during his teenage years, he had scrambled out of bed, sweat beading on his forehead, the realization of being late dawning on him. He had gotten ready in record time, stuffing random books in his backpack with one hand, the other desperately trying to button his trousers.

He had sprinted out of his room, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hallway, had grabbed a banana from the kitchen and, thankfully to his stamina, had reached the bus stop in a matter of minutes.

It had been only there, while he was still huffing and puffing from the run, body slightly bent forward supporting himself with his hands on his knees, that he had realized it was _Sunday_.

Yuuri could still remember vividly the feeling of utter confusion he had felt, standing there, as the wheels in his brain worked to comprehend what had just happened.

He had never felt more disoriented and lost in his entire life.

Up until now. The utter confusion he had felt, staring at the empty streets of his city, to then realize that it was Sunday, could only be compared to what he was feeling now.

Because, as Yuuri stood in front of the apartment complex’s doors, body grumbling in need of food, he stared at what was supposed to be one of the lively streets of St. Petersburg and only caught half of it. The lower half completely hidden by something bright, blinding and white that was pushed against the glass door. He couldn’t pin point what it was, mind clouded by the hunger.

The artificial yellow light of the streetlights outside shone into the atrium, but they also projected creepy shadows through what Yuuri had finally realized was _snow_.

He waddled closer to the glass door, face squishing on the extremely cold surface in a futile attempt to get a better view of outside.

From what the mixture of darkness ( _it’s only seven pm_ , he certified grumpily) and faint light could show, he realized that it was snowing, pretty badly. As in, don’t you dare go outside, badly.

Standing on his tippy toes, neck angling in an uncomfortable way, he tried to scan as many streets as his sight could grasp. They were all deserted, not a single soul or vehicle daring to face the harsh weather. His eyes scanned the entire view, mind already thinking of post-apocalyptic scenarios.

“No wonder the take away place ignored my calls.” He complained grumpily. With the knowledge that food was unavailable, his stomach seemed to be hurting even more, demanding nutrition more vehemently than before.

As he shamefully made his way to the elevator, he could almost hear his sister’s voice scold him for having waited for so long. He could almost hear her condescending ‘serves you right’.

Eyes lowered to the floor and stomach grumbling, he moved to open his apartment door, mind thinking helplessly about a possible solution.

His gaze flickered quickly to the neighboring’s doors. There was the old man who hated him, who probably would have been glad to see him suffer (provided that he did it in _silence_ , of course), his knowledge of English was limited to the words he had learned to insult him, scold him, or both.

Then, the door right in front of him belonged to a family of four. He had never met the parents, but would seldom see the kids rush out of the door in religious silence, probably not to anger the Old Man. He couldn’t just knock at their door to ask for food, he blushed furiously at the mere thought of doing so.

Turning his head to the left, he scanned quickly the remaining three doors, forming excuses in his head, hoping that realizing how unavailable the food really was would convince his hunger to dissipate.

The cat lady was probably busy.

The young couple was probably away for the weekend, as usual.

Viktor was-

He blinked, as an idea danced in his mind. Shook his head. Grabbed the keys to enter his own apartment.

But his body wouldn’t move, he felt like a magnetic field was pushing him away.

Defeated, he made his way towards his neighbor’s door, his finger hovered over the doorbell’s button. Then he lowered it, realizing that it would be too formal; his hand formed a tight fist and neared the door, ready to knock, instead. He was really doing this. He was _really_ doing this. _Was he, really?_

He tried to give himself a pep talk, that quickly turned into an argument with his reasonable side. Of course, he was doing it just because he was hungry and had stupidly forgotten to buy groceries, he was not, in any way, trying to spend more time with Viktor. Not that he didn’t want to spend time with Viktor, but – too caught up in his own mind, he hadn’t realized his hands were flailing, gesticulating back and forth to assert his demonstrations.

Too caught up in his own mind, he hadn’t realized that he had accidentally knocked on the brown door.

His fight or flight response kicked in, his primal instinct begging him to turn back and run, like little kids would, after a silly prank, but he knew that there was no way he could be quick enough and reach his own door before Viktor would swing his.

He was trapped. Cursing himself, Yuuri wore his most awkward smile and waited for the Russian man to open the door.

Viktor’s eyes widened in surprise for a millisecond, before his expression morphed into a welcoming one, a warm smile curving his lips, kind eyes shining.

Yuuri forced himself not to stare for too long and uttered an, almost imperceptible, greeting.

“Is everything alright?” asked instantly the older man, when, once he had gotten rid of the initial shock, probably took in Yuuri’s appearance.

His hair was disheveled. Underneath the heaviest coat he had found, he was wearing his blue and green checkered pajama pants (because, ‘ _there’s no need to change if I’m just going to get take away, right?_ ’ – he was now regretting his choice) paired with an extremely fashionable blue zip up jacket. He had bags under his eyes from waking up in the middle of the night to succumb to his ‘inspiration’ and his stomach was grumbling, audibly. For one of this reasons, or possibly for all of them, Yuuri’s usually pale complexion was changing to an alarming shade of red, the blush spreading to his entire face, and lowering underneath the jacket to his covered chest.

“I-” he fiddled from foot to foot, regretting fully both his idea and his awkwardness.

Yuuri had always wished to be confident, to be like one of those people whose words came naturally without having to rehearse them in their minds or writing them down on a piece of paper, he wished to be spontaneous and outgoing. Sometimes he would even try to act like those people, try to emulate their sentences and movements, desperately hoping that one day they would become part of his own being.

He took a big breath, chest slightly puffing out as he inhaled. He cleared his throat as Viktor was now looking at him, his face full of curiosity and expectation.

Yuuri exhaled, _he could do it_. He just needed to form a coherent sentence that made him sound confident.

“I- The takeaway place is closed” was what he blurted out instead, he watched Viktor’s face scrunch up in confusion and he could almost see his thinking process going on in his brain. Fighting hard against the voice that begged him to dart away from the Russian man to avoid further humiliation, he tried to regain composure before Viktor would start bombarding him with questions “I don’t have food in my house, and the takeaway place is closed-”

“Oh no!” Yuuri figure was instantly pulled inside by the other man’s strong arms, that had gently grasped the sides of his coat “You must be starving!” he then exclaimed as the door closed behind them with a loud bang.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Yuuri could see Makkachin sleeping on the floor soundly and he allowed himself to get a quick glance at the oh-so-well decorated and furnished apartment, blushing at the memory of his own that was the complete opposite.

“How hungry are you?” he snapped back towards Viktor’s voice, that was now further away. The man had moved to the open space kitchen that was identical to Yuuri’s and was now rummaging around each and every drawer and cupboard fervently “I don’t have much food either, but I could make you noodles?”

Yuuri’s eyes lit up to that and he wholeheartedly hoped that the distance would muffle the grumble of his own stomach’s appreciation. He nodded excitedly.

“Uhm,” Yuuri walked closed and – _was Viktor really blushing?_ His heart skipped a beat at the sight, he curiously stared at the man’s cheeks that were now tinted with a light shade of pink, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless, and fought against the need to poke them with his finger “I meant the instant kind, I’m not a good cook.”

Yuuri refrained from uttering that _he didn’t care_ that Viktor wasn’t a good cook, because he would gladly eat expired food if the Russian man would have offered to him. Only because of his hunger, of course, surely not because Viktor had already a huge influence on him.

“Instant noodles are great,” he said, instead. A bashful smile spreading on his face as he neared the other man, who was already filling a kettle up with water.

“Please, have a seat.” Yuuri followed the invitation willingly as he plopped on one of the stools near the wide and polished counter. It looked untouched, unlived. But then again, the entire apartment projected the same vibe. And Yuuri found himself wondering if it was intentional, maybe Viktor was a neat freak? Or perhaps, he had never fully habited the rooms. Whatever it was, he forced himself to stop thinking about it, feeling guilty to be snooping around the house of someone who had kindly offered their help.

A steaming cup was placed in front of his face alongside a couple of unknown packets, and Yuuri frowned instantly. What was he supposed to do with _those_?

Sensing his distress, Viktor moved closer and opened them for him, dumping its contents in the cup. Two were powders and one was of what looked like freeze-dried vegetables. Not that Yuuri was paying too much attention, being completely distracted by Viktor’s proximity, being completely taken aback by the smell of what felt like the most entrancing cologne he had ever encountered. With the same wariness of a child being almost caught red-handed, he tried to discreetly gulp down the lump that had formed in his throat, effectively getting rid even of the excessive amount of saliva.

“Now you mix” he stared at the fork the man was offering and readily grabbed it in his hand, he watched as Viktor plopped down on the stool in front of him, the counter now separating them.

Eating noodles with a fork felt wrong, but then again, eating noodles that bland felt even more wrong. But his stomach seemed not to mind, after hours of an unwanted fast.

Viktor chuckled at his face, resting the fork inside of the cup to fully concentrate his attention on the younger man “You’re not a fan?” he teased and seemed to enjoy Yuuri’s gasp at the question and his consecutive attempt not to trip over his own words as he argued that _no, they’re great_.

“You don’t need to lie, you’re probably used to a lot better.” he raised his silver eyebrows promptingly and Yuuri finally smiled, unwinding slightly.

“Well- Yes I am,” another hesitation “But this is great too” he scrambled quickly, waving his fork in the air, without realizing, as he gesticulated frantically.

A polite conversation settled between the two, stopping only when one would take a bite of the flavorless and poor excuse for noodles, the other following suit to avoid awkward silences.

They jumped easily from one topic to the other, the back and forth flowing and rather quick for two non-English native speakers. Yuuri had long before realized how fluent Viktor actually was, his speech never faltering, pronouncing the words clearly despite his thick accent. During their tour of St. Petersburg, Viktor had done most of the talking and Yuuri had been left mesmerized at how his sentences flowed out of his mouth, one after the other in an endless stream, rarely would he stop to rake his brain for a certain word but when he did, the pause would be brief and he would accompany the newly remembered word with a satisfied snap of the finger.

Yuuri, on the other hand, felt extremely self-conscious about his verbal skills, he was fluent, sure, but sometimes his sentences would die on his tongue midway, forcing him to stop and repeat the same thought with easier, more banal and general words. Some other times, he would even get stuck in an endless loop of echoing the same phrase over and over again, producing a perfect copy of the one before, changing it slightly up with synonyms, scared that his interlocutor wouldn't be able to understand. Viktor often understood on Yuuri’s first try, but still nodded along encouragingly as he listened to the other man sputter on, a kind smile plastered on his lips.

At some point, as they animatedly disclosed of holiday traditions the half-eaten noodles in the cup had gone cold, and Yuuri's appetite had subsided, still present in the pit of his stomach, but not demanding anymore.

The light coming from the window, that was identical to the one Yuuri had in his own apartment, had started to dim, leaving the kitchen in a semidarkness that prevented the two from actively looking in each other’s eyes without lightly squinting them. With a swift movement, Viktor pointed at the, by now completely forgotten, noodle cup, a silent question gone unspoken, Yuuri muttered a _yes_ as the Russian man got to his feet, leftovers in his hands, ready to throw them out.

Yuuri discretely looked around himself, what was he supposed to do now? Worried that he might have overstayed his welcome, he was fully ready to leave before things would turn awkward. He had no intention whatsoever to endure those embarrassing moments were Viktor would hint that it was time for him to go.

He jumped down from his stool, hands fidgeting and a polite but forced smile grazing his lips, the two men locked eyes. Blue irises meeting warm brown ones.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” was blurted out before Yuuri even opened his mouth, it fell open in shock as his heart started beating faster, so fast that he thought would have a heart attack. He forced the disbelief out of his expression, although it remained present in his wide eyes.

“I-” he blabbed, eyes blinking at the speed of light, brain frantically searching for the right answer. He had been ready to leave, had assumed that that was his only option. Was Viktor doing this out of pure politeness? Yuuri didn’t know, it had been so long since he had interacted with someone that he didn’t know like the back of his hands and it made him uncomfortable not being able to read Viktor’s expressions like how he could with his sister, Mari. It made him uncomfortable not being able to read Viktor’s tone of his voice, like how he could with his best friend, Phichit. It made him uncomfortable not being able to predict his next move, his next sentence. It made him uncomfortable not knowing Viktor enough.

So, pushed by his need to know more about the man that was now standing in front of him with a welcoming (and slightly unsure) smile. And pushed by his need for human contact that wasn’t through a computer, he slowly nodded his head up and down, a timid but genuine smile making its way on his slightly chapped lips.

Viktor’s hands shot up in the air, his entire face lightning up, he moved slightly forward towards Yuuri, but then seemed to stop himself, the unsureness creeping back in his eyes. “I have a couple of dvds that have English subtitles, we could choose from one of those?”

 

With his feet folded beneath him and his head slightly cocked to the side, resting on his own shoulder, he knew that he would’ve regretted it the next day. Viktor’s couch wasn’t as comfortable as it looked expensive, but it was roomy for the two of them to be able to sit at a considerable distance, bodies not touching even if they would try to stretch towards each other. Crammed in his awkward position, he still felt his eyes droop heavily every few minutes. The tiredness had engulfed his body to the point that the movie playing on the screen had turned into a colorful mess of lights emitting from the tv, the subtitles unreadable and long forgotten.

He felt three again, back when he used to fall asleep on the couch of the tv room at the onsen, his small, chubby, body curled up on the comfortable sofa; his father would always pick him up in his strong arms, coddling in his grasp and settling him on his bed. The entire process almost imperceptible to the dazed Yuuri, the feeling of being hoisted up in the air overthrown by the sleepiness.

Except that now he wasn't three anymore, he wasn't on the onsen's couch and his father wasn't around to carry him to bed (not that he would be able to do so anyway). Yuuri knew that he needed to get up before he would actively fall asleep on his neighbor’s couch, but now his head was throbbing and his limbs felt too heavy to move. He knew he needed to get up, but his bones were tired and they weren’t ready to get through the hassle of putting on his shoes, and grabbing his coat and _walking to his apartment_ when he was already comfortable and when he was already half asleep. If only he could lay down for a few seconds, he would regain the little energy needed to go back to his own apartment. _Just a few seconds_ , he told himself as his body plopped on the sofa. Head now resting on the couch’s pillows, and legs extending and finally stretching after staying put in one position for too long.

From his new position, Yuuri could actually see Viktor, his beautiful blue eyes glued to the television screen, back standing perfectly straight and his long legs crossed on the couch. Yuuri blinked a few times, admiring the view, then the effort to keep his eyes open became too much and Viktor’s figure faded to darkness.

 

 

Hasetsu’s mornings had always been serene and calm, the streets empty and the only sound surrounding the city being the sea waves, crashing and splashing on the beach. Yuuri had always deemed it normal, the utter silence that seemed to engulf the town, accustomed to the stillness of it all. So no wonder that, when he had first moved to Detroit to write his debut book, his first morning had been traumatizing; the cars honking, the people screaming and chattering, the train screeching, its wheels moving on the railroad track blearing and heavy, even his roommate, Phichit, had been extremely loud, pots clinking as he desperately attempted to make a decent breakfast. Since that morning years before, Yuuri had gotten used to the noises of the city, the calmness of Hasetsu long forgotten, but dearly dreaded.

And oh, how he dreaded it as the annoying squawking of the seagulls filled the apartment. Those and the too-loud-tv of one of his neighbors mixed together, forming an unpleasant and irritating melody.

Yuuri rolled on his stomach, hands blindly patting the space around him in search of a pillow to smash over his own head in a desperate attempt to muffle the sounds and block the unusual light that filtered in, that hurt his closed eyes. He frowned, raking his brain, trying to remember exactly _why_ he hadn’t closed the blinds of his room the night before. Then he frowned even more, when he realized that he couldn’t even remember _getting_ to his room.

Suddenly awake, he jolted upwards with a harsh jerk of his body, a few bones creaking in protest, his eyes opened and closed quickly, trying to adjust to the brightness.

His breath caught in his throat as his gaze landed on a sleeping poodle, cuddled right next to his legs. He had slept on a sofa. He had slept on Viktor’s sofa. He had slept in Viktor’s apartment.

Yuuri got to his feet in a matter of seconds, legs tangling with the dozen blankets that had been carefully wrapped around his body. He blushed furiously.

With his eyes fixated on the door, he folded the five ( ** _five_** ) blankets that Viktor had supposedly wrapped around him, and laid them on the couch thoroughly, all under Makkachin’s scrutiny.

With his cheeks still hot red, Yuuri attempted to call for Viktor, the name echoing in the wide and empty apartment. At the mention of his owner, Makkachin was now standing at full attention.

Yuuri’s plan was to run away as fast as possible, determined to avoid Viktor in order to escape even further embarrassment.

He had seriously fallen asleep on Viktor’s couch and made a fool of himself. His heart raced as his mind swam with millions of questions. _What had Viktor thought of him? Had he laughed? Had he been annoyed?_

Grabbing his shoes and jacket from near the door, he swiftly placed his free hand on the icy cold metal handle, opening the door slightly, a cold breeze filtering through.

Struck by a wave of utter curiosity, he turned around with a sudden twitch, the handle still clutched in his hand, door still slightly ajar. His eyes went back and forth for a couple of times, his conscience begging him to go away. Makkachin stared sleepily at him from the couch, he looked almost annoyed by Yuuri’s indecisiveness.

The door shut with a light _click_ behind him, as Yuuri tiptoed back towards the living room, looking around himself paranoidly. Once he had ensured that his only witness would be the, already dozing off, poodle, his body shot immediately forward, his mind already set on a certain piece of furniture that he had eyed the entire night before.

His heart thumped loudly from the guilt that was already forming in the pit of his stomach, he knew that was he was about to do wasn’t fair, that snooping was rude and an invasion of privacy, but he couldn’t bear not knowing. He was also aware of the fact that Viktor could be back at any moment, since he didn’t know when and where he had gone in the first place, so he had to be quick.

As he stood in front of the massive bookshelf he took it all in, having to bend back his neck to gaze at the highest shelf, out of the five ledges, only one had been filled with books, much to Yuuri’s dismay. They had been placed on the middle one, exactly at Yuuri’s eyelevel, who’s pointer finger was now running greedily over each book spine with reverence. He couldn’t read the titles, nor the authors, as they were hidden by the cryptic Cyrillic alphabet with which Yuuri still struggled greatly with. The books were fewer than he had expected, and even fewer were the ones that looked lived, with their spines slightly cracked and the covers wrinkled.

Disappointed, he let his eyes wander all over the shelves, his eyes scanning lazily the lower ones, covered in what looked to be silly souvenirs. Yuuri huffed out a laugh, of course Viktor was a souvenir type of guy.

When his eyes moved upwards though, the mirth that had adorned his laughter stopped immediately. The shelf was slightly higher than him, forcing Yuuri to stand and balance on his tiptoes, supporting his position with his hands on the wooden ledge (that was terribly dusty, he found out) he made himself tall enough to notice the remarkable amount of trophies, medals and fancy certificates; his position prevented him from reading the words clearly, the printed ones being too small for his sight while the engraved ones on trophies and medals (that were mostly gold, Yuuri whistled at that) were too confusing to discern.

With the feelings of guilt now completely repressed in the back of his mind, the intense desire to know more having overpowered anything else, he reached blindly for the first prize that he could get his hands on.

As he clutched the medal in his sweaty hands, he turned it around a couple of times, leaving fingerprint marks on the once immaculate metal. The award was plain, both sides were decorated with a golden figure striking a pose and engraved all around the edge were the words ‘Grand Prix Final’ in white letters on a golden background.

Yuuri stared at it for a few more seconds, hoping that all the answers to his several questions would just appear on the metal in a heartbeat. They didn’t.

He cleaned the fingerprints with the edge of his sweater, making an even bigger mess, the medal being now covered in streaks. Yuuri shrugged it off, in his time spent with Viktor he had realized that the Russian didn’t pay attention to minor details, so he didn’t worry. He re-placed the medal back on the shelf with a grunt and, not bothering to stand on his tip toes again, he swept the surface with his hand open, fingers catching only the dust that had piled on it.

Yuuri was just about to grab a trophy when, with his peripheral vision, he noticed Makkachin’s body tense up, then with an effortless leap the poodle strolled to the door with a happy yap. Having been a dog owner himself, Yuuri knew exactly what it meant. Viktor was almost home. He stumbled away from the bookshelf (how long had he actually stood there for?) and made his way to the sofa as quickly as he could.

Luckily, his shoes and jacket were still by the door and other than Yuuri’s dusty fingers, there was no proof of his snooping around; with his heart beating so fast that he could feel it in his throat, he lowered himself on the sofa at the same time as the door opened. He closed his eyes a little too tight, his breath still quick and shaky from the stress.

His body stilled when he heard Viktor’s little surprised gasp, and he took a deep, deep, breath before he stood up from the sofa, putting his best fake sleepy face on.

“Hey.” they both said in unison, Yuuri rubbed theatrically his eyes. They chuckled for no apparent reason.

“I’m sorry that I-” Yuuri noticed the folded blankets and moved his body more to the right, so that he, hoped, would cover them “-fell asleep last night, I was really tired, and you were really kind.”

Viktor smiled one of his dazzling smiles and he let go the handle of what looked like a gym bag on the floor, it landed with a small **_thump_**. Then he began taking off his coat and scarf with a tired sigh. Yuuri watched him, not able to take his eyes off of his every movement, he took in the shape of his arms, following the path from his shoulder blades to his hands, that were now undoing the knot of his scarf. Yuuri knew that he had to stand up, that he had to go away, but he was entranced by Viktor’s small, domestic actions.

When Viktor turned back around, Yuuri was on his feet, his cheeks red and his hands fumbling.

“I need to go, thank you for-” a second of hesitation “everything.” The last word sounded more like a question. Not knowing what to say, Yuuri moved towards Viktor’s to gather his things, this time adamant to actually leave for good.

“No problem, come back when you need to.” Another dazzling smile, Yuuri nodded solemnly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Yuuri mentally kicked himself, here he was, a world-renowned author, entertaining a conversation made up entirely of okays, all of the other words having completely dissipated from his brain.

He stepped into the corridor, the harsh air hitting him and making him shiver from head to toe. He half walked, half ran to his own apartment, quickly fishing in his jacket’s pockets for the keys as his body slightly trembled from the cold biting air. Perhaps walking out on the freezing tiles of the corridor in only his thin socks hadn’t been his best idea. He tried to still the chattering of his teeth, knowing fully well that Viktor was still staring at him from the other side of the alleyway.

Before closing his door behind, he turned around and waved at his neighbor, his face burning red and his fingers still coated in dust.

 

It wasn’t until later, when Yuuri was standing in an endless line at the grocery store’s cash register, that he realized he could use google to answer some of his questions.

Hoping that he would, by any chance find something, anything that would quench his curiousness he quickly typed a couple of key words in the search bar: Grand Prix Viktor.

Not expecting much, he waited patiently for the page to load.

His prayers were answered when the page refreshed fully and he had to stifle a shocked gasp as his eyes landed on endless articles and pictures of his neighbor, Viktor, or better: Viktor Nikiforov, figure skating legend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter was written in super tiny parts during my classes, for example this last bit was brought to you by the super interesting (not) class I took on Flaubert wow, such great, much wow.
> 
> If you want to follow me on tumblr, [this is my yoi sideblog](https://pettyuri.tumblr.com/)
> 
> and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9603146) you can check out my very angsty one shot or my [very angsty Kimi no Na wa AU (aka the best movie ever made)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9831314/chapters/22073642)

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first time writing an alternative universe and it's my first time writing a story mainly focused on romance (usually angst and horror is my shit) but hey, let me know what you think.  
> Once again, if you found any mistake, tell me, I'd like to improve.  
> Let me know what you think and if I should go on  
> Thank you soo much for reading,  
> Nicole :)


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